


“did your body ever hurt you?”

by Livdonna



Series: Eating Disorder / “Relief” AU [3]
Category: Sixx:A.M.
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Anorexia, Anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Bulimia, Depression, Dissociation, Eating Disorders, Emotional Baggage, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Maladaptive Coping, Mental Health Issues, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Psychological Trauma, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Shame, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29234604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livdonna/pseuds/Livdonna
Summary: DJ’s voice is playing in the back of my head. His concerned, sad, child-like tone of voice... The voice that sends me into a guilt-ridden tornado of inner turmoil and desperation.“Why does your mind hate your body so much? Did your body ever hurt you?”
Series: Eating Disorder / “Relief” AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2133336
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	“did your body ever hurt you?”

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS!!!!!!!!!  
> ***Suicidal thoughts, self-harm, eating disorder behaviors, dissociation, past trauma****
> 
> Gonna make this short & sweet: this is pretty heavy so if any of the above is triggering, please don't risk your well being for this! i care about you! <3
> 
> lot's of people think body dysmorphia/EDs are only about the body.... they're not... in this case, it's connected to shame and low self-worth (stemming from an emotional trauma & undiagnosed bipolar disorder)!! --- the "yucky" feeling of shame that you feel inside is taken out on the body... and you will try anything to get rid of that feeling... which comes out in destroying the body. (trust me... it hits home for me... i've been thru it...)
> 
> if you feel comfortable reading, go right ahead... either way, i hope you're taking care of yourself! <3 (and if you have any questions about BDD/ED/bipolar/anything in this, feel free to ask in the comments, i'll be more than happy to answer!!!!)

I always tell myself that I feel some kind of relief when I’m alone.

I always say that if I’m alone I’m safer because then I can allow myself to be vulnerable and let everything out. If no one’s around, I’m not taking any risks of getting hurt or exposing myself. I can let myself be free and release everything that’s inside of me. I don’t have to hold back or force myself to put on a front anymore. I can just _be_.

However, what I always forget is that even if I’m alone, the thoughts still race around in my head, and in reality, they’re worse. I would be fooling myself if I said that I feel better being alone, because I really don’t. It’s just that my brain tricks me into believing that I’m safer this way, and that no one wants to deal with my fucked up ass anyway.

Right now I’m stuck in one of those head spaces. It’s that urgent feeling of needing to get away, and release before you go back into civilization and need to recompose yourself.

The second that I got upstairs and knew I was alone, that familiar sense of relief washed over me, but not too long after, it diminished.

Now I’m just feeling pure _dread_.

I’m feeling dreadful _anticipation_.

My whole body is throbbing, my arms are sore, and there’s a huge pit in my stomach.

I’m not completely aware of what went on during the last hour, but I’m smart enough to know that something happened... It’s the idea of finding out the details that is making me feel like I’m about to break down. That’s the dread that I’m feeling right now.

It’s the dread of seeing the damage that’s been done.

I can feel my body shaking, as I slowly walk into my upstairs bathroom. The burning sensation that travels down my throat is just reminding me of what I used to feel like every morning when I woke up after spending my days and nights binging and purging... My throat had been slowly eroding from all of the stomach acid that I continuously brought up... But that’s not what this is.

I gave myself a nasty cold from impulsively sleeping outside last night, after one of my many emotional breakdowns. This is from how raw my throat got from coughing, not to mention all of the cigarettes I’ve been smoking.

It’s different, but also the same. It’s similar in the way that it’s all pain that’s been inflicted upon myself, by myself. It’s a pain that I’ve become all too familiar with... so familiar that I’m almost used to it. It’s a pain that I have no desire to take away... A pain that I believe I deserve.

The second that I lock the door and look at myself in the mirror, I freeze.

I’ve always had a weird relationship with the mirror.

Even though my fucked up eating issues didn’t start until the beginning of last year, there was still something skewed about my own perception of myself. The mirror doesn’t only show your appearance. It shows who you are... You see your reflection and sure it’s what you look like, but deep down inside when you look at yourself, you think about the person you are.

When I think about the person I am, I cringe. There’s no part of me that feels love or nurture towards myself in any way... For as long as I could remember, all I saw in myself were flaws, and mistakes, and things that needed to be fixed. So many things went wrong... So many things were broken and decrepit and damaged, and it all came back to me. It all came back to my own actions.

When I look at myself in the mirror, it doesn’t matter what I look like; I will always see the horrible monster that I believe I am... or should I say, I _am_.

Right now I’m feeling that stronger than ever.

The blanket that I’ve had wrapped around me is basically suffocating me at this point, and even though I’m alone right now, there’s still a huge part of me that feels incredibly hesitant to remove it. There’s a part of me that is terrified to see the reality. The pulsating pain that is reverberating through my whole body is making my own sense of dread stronger.

I’m shivering like there’s no tomorrow, but feel hot at the same time. I have a high fever but I don’t give a shit. I’ve been through way worse things and know that I can handle it. My face is drained of all color, and my eyes look absolutely dead. Completely lifeless. At the same time, my body feels full of nervous energy and I have the jitters. That could be from my hypomania or just because I’m feeling the insane dread of what I’m about to do... The dread of knowing what I’m about to see.

After what feels like an eternity, I squeeze my eyes shut, take a deep breath, and allow the blanket to fall from my body, onto the floor.

I use all of my power inside of me to force myself to open my eyes. The second that I do, I regret it. The pit in my stomach is so intense that it’s making me feel sick.

I feel like I’m about to fuckin’ _puke_.

Right now, I wish I wasn’t seeing what was real, but unfortunately there is no part of this reality that is distorted. Normally I can’t tell the difference or even distinguish my body distortions from a truthful perception.

Right now there is _none_ of that.

Right now it is all _real_.

I’m only wearing my white ribbed tank top, and all I see is pure destruction.

My chest is covered in what look like little cat scratches. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought that Rocco got a little extra pissed at me and went off... Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. I don’t remember doing it myself but I know that there is no other explanation for these cuts... Sure, they look like scratches but when I look towards the right side of my chest, there’s what looks like a blotch of raw red...

I feel a sharp pain in my stomach when I see that, because _fuck_. It looks like someone took sandpaper and rubbed the same spot over and over again until the skin broke and bled. It still looks open and also pussy... I can’t even explain it.

My chest is enough to make me feel like heaving, but it’s even worse when my gaze runs down my arms. Because my tattoos are mainly black and grey, any other color is extremely noticeable even while blended with the designs. I feel like I can’t even breathe right now. I can’t open my mouth to say anything. I feel like I’m seeing something out of a scene in a thriller.

There are big scrapes scattered up and down my arms. Some are small, some are large... The bigger ones are on my upper arms, near my tricep and bicep area. It looks like I squeezed my arms so hard that I opened the skin, but what really gets me is how some of these cuts look like they could be infected. Oozy liquid is dripping out of them, and it’s making my skin and tattoos look discolored. I can make out lint from the blanket that I had wrapped around me intertwined in some of the wounds, and all that does is make me feel even more frozen.

I’m frozen but not frozen enough to move my shaking hand to touch one of the open wounds. The sharp burning sensation automatically causes me to flinch.

My whole body is throbbing in pain, and it’s been this whole time... I knew I did something to myself but I just didn’t look at the damage until now. The whole vision is sending chills up my spine and my stomach feels hollow. Nausea is beginning to creep up and I wish to god that what I’m seeing wasn’t real but it is.

I did this to myself.

DJ’s voice is playing in the back of my head. His concerned, sad, child-like tone of voice... The voice that sends me into a guilt-ridden tornado of inner turmoil and desperation.

_“Why does your mind hate your body so much? Did your body ever hurt you?”_

I’ll never forget the pit that formed in my stomach after DJ asked me that question for the first time.

These are the types of questions that I would expect to hear from my therapist, but the last person that I thought would ask me that was DJ.

I couldn’t answer him that day because I know that if I was honest he would just stare at me and try to argue. He wouldn’t understand, and honestly... I don’t blame him.

_No one_ understands!

My body isn’t a body to me. It’s a container that I’m trapped in. It’s a fucking prison that I can’t escape from no matter how much I want to, and how hard I try. It’s a vessel that I’m eternally connected to, and I have no control over that. I have no say in how my body works, or what it does... I can’t free myself from it, and that’s what the traumatizing part is for me.

It’s traumatizing because I don’t want a body. I don’t want to stay trapped in this fucking jail cell because being trapped in here means that I’m stuck with every horrible emotion that I’ve felt in my life. Since my damn soul is trapped in the container, it can’t roam free and bring all of the bad things I’ve done with it. No. I can never get rid of everything I’ve done because it’s all connected to the freaking body.

Living in this body means that I’m stuck with every action and consequence that I’ve faced. This body is what led me to hurt people. If I wasn’t in this body, none of that shit would have happened, but that’s the issue. I can’t escape it.

Trust me. I’ve _tried_.

I’ve tried almost everything, but no matter how much I’ve tried to hurt it, it never freakin’ gave up.

There were so many times this past year when it should have just plummeted and killed me, but it didn’t.

When I tore my stomach to shreds with all of the laxatives I took, and then puked on stage from dehydration, it should have said “fuck it”.

When I collapsed after our show from low blood sugar, it should have made me black out for way longer than a few minutes.

After consistently abusing it through so much exercise, all of my muscles should have atrophied and lost mobility.

When I overdosed on water and diluted my sodium levels too low, my brain should have fuckin’ swelled or I should have had a seizure.

When I ran in the middle of the night on a completely empty stomach and started to dry heave on the sidewalk from dehydration, I should have collapsed right then and there.

When I overloaded on metabolic boosters at the airport, my heart should have given up on me from beating way too fast.

When I binged and purged for the first time, my body should have made it my last time.

When I spent the whole freakin day binging and purging, I should have fucking died. When I was out barfing outside the hotel at nine at night, I should have collapsed and not woken up.

When I woke up the next morning and couldn’t drink a sip of water, my heart should have gone straight into cardiac arrest.

Whenever I went to sleep and felt my muscles cramping and my heart palpitating, I should have died in my damn sleep instead of waking up every morning.

When I impulsively ran into traffic that night, the car should have hit me before Nikki came and pulled me away.

When I lost consciousness after throwing up blood and drinking ipecac syrup, I shouldn’t have woken up.

That should have been the fucking END of me... But it wasn’t.

My body _still_ kept going.

It didn’t matter how much I’ve tried to starve it, exhaust it, manipulate it, stuff it, rip it open, pull it off, force food out of it, scream at it, stab it, pinch it, contort it, inhale toxins into it, poison it, make it disappear... It still stuck with me.

It still decides to fucking stay here so it could FUCKING TORTURE ME ALL THE GODDAMN TIME!

I mean for god’s sake, I have a freakin fever and I’ve been smoking like a maniac all day, coughing up a storm and I’m STILL here!

That damn body won’t fucking give up and that’s the damn problem! I feel tortured living in it and I don’t want to fucking exist! No one understands that and I don’t know WHY! It’s not fair to me that I’m forced to feel horrible every second of every day because I’m stuck feeling suffocated in my own skin! But at the same time it is fair because I’m such a horrible person and this is what I deserve. I deserve to feel tormented and be in pain all the time. Killing myself would be the easy way out wouldn’t it? That would make me fuckin selfish because then I would get what I want... I don’t deserve to feel at any peace. What I deserve is the excruciating torture that I endure every day living like this.

But it doesn’t mean anything because I still can’t handle it. I want it to end and I can’t end it, and I feel desperate. I couldn’t take it anymore and I had a fucking breakdown.

I was hanging out with DJ in my living room... He had a horrible nightmare the night before and refused to sleep the whole day today, but I finally got him to try to relax. It was an arduous task, but I wasn’t giving up until he was willing... The dude was a mess. His brain was just not working at all, and because I’m an expert on sleep deprivation, I knew for a fact that it was from that. I hate to see other people go through the things I go through on a daily basis... They don’t deserve it. It’s different.

Anyway, he was falling asleep and he started rambling. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t fully aware of what was coming out of his mouth but I was. I was completely aware of it. I wish I wasn’t, but I couldn’t run away. I had promised that I would stay in the room with him to make him feel safe. I wasn’t going to break that.

Sitting there with him was incredibly uncomfortable because I was holding back all of my festering emotions from earlier in the day. All I wanted to do was jump out of my skin, but I forced myself to stay with him. The longer I did, the closer I felt to reaching my breaking point but I was able to somehow mask all of that through the facade I’m so accustomed to wearing these days... or should I say my whole life.

However, it was the second that I heard him start apologizing to me that things started to crumble completely.

Whenever he apologizes, I know he’s blaming himself for what happened to me, and I can’t control the shame that creeps up inside of me. It’s so freakin’ intense because DJ doesn’t understand that he has nothing to apologize for! He doesn’t understand that he couldn’t have done anything because this was all on me. My self infliction was all my doing and he has no role in it! It hurts so bad that he takes the blame for my own destruction... and he constantly says that he should have said something sooner... or else things would be okay.

I know he was half asleep when he told me that, but it didn’t matter, because he’s said it before and it doesn’t get any easier. In fact, I feel worse about myself every time...

I usually argue with him and get extremely adamant, but this time I didn’t. I just wanted him to get some sleep so I deflected from the topic. It’s hard to remember much because it feels like a blur, but I know that once I heard DJ’s steady breathing and realized that he fell asleep, every single emotion that I was swallowing and holding in suddenly came crashing down on me.

Unfortunately, even though DJ was asleep, I was still terrified of letting everything out, because there was still that possibility of him waking up and witnessing it. The fear that’s instilled in me of having others see me cry or show emotion is so strong, and it’s hard to challenge it, especially when I’ve believed these things about myself for so long. That if I cry or someone sees me cry, I’ll be told that I’m _too much_ , or that I’m _overreacting_ , or be told that I’m out of control... a chaotic mess of a person... someone who needs to get a grip and get their crap together...

It’s too much of a risk.

I couldn’t do it.

DJ’s head was on my lap which made it even harder because all I wanted to do in that moment was bolt to another part of the room to somehow hide myself. Eventually he moved his head onto the couch so I was free to do what I wanted, but I was still extremely cautious. I swallowed everything until I knew for sure that he was _actually_ asleep. After a few moments, I decided it was safe to move, but before I could, my head started screaming at me.

_Well you’re a fucking piece of shit , it’s not like you haven’t hurt him enough already! Sure! Let’s just CONTINUE being a fucking bastard and just wait for your fate! You’re gonna be left with NO ONE James. And it’s all because of your stupid decisions you’re making! Even now, you piece of crap! Of course you’ll take advantage of DJ sleeping to go move and do whatever the hell you want, fucking piece of shit; go to HELL—_

Frustration and shame overpowered me, and I tried so hard to fight it but it was no use. The emotions were too fuckin’ strong, and before I knew it I felt tears threatening to escape my eyes. My facade was so close to cracking.

It was in that very moment that I moved. The alarms going off in my head were so intense, and I somehow ended up in the far corner of the living room, hiding in my sweatshirt, leaning against the wall, as the blaring noise in my head continued.

_YOU ARE A HORRIBLE PERSON! LOOK AT YOU, JUST LEAVING HIM LIKE THAT WHEN YOU FUCKING TOLD HIM YOU WOULD STAY RIGHT THERE—-_

_I said I would stay in THIS ROOM! I didn’t say I had to be in that same spot! LEAVE ME ALONE!_

_And why the HELL would I do that?! You’ve fucked up way too many things to be able to be let off the hook! You’re a real wise ass James you know that?! Why do you even continue to argue with me when you know that I’ll always win, huh?! Exactly! You’re wasting your damn energy. Just GIVE UP—_

That’s when I started crying.

At this point I turned to face my window because I knew there was no way I would be able to hold in my tears, and god forbid I exposed my face to DJ. I started crying silently, and I felt more vulnerable than I did the whole time, because even though I wasn’t even close to DJ anymore, I was still in an open room. It’s not like I was locked up somewhere in the dark where I could hide. No... This was happening out in the open but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop crying.

The longer that I stayed in that one spot, the worse I felt. Body sensations were beginning to creep up and all I wanted to do was crawl out of my skin... It was that itchy sensation. The sensation of wanting to get my body off of me. Escape it. Rip it off. Pull my skin off. All of it was there. _Every single ounce_ of it.

Before I could even think, I bolted upstairs to my room, but little did I know... It was going to make things even worse.

The second that I came face to face with the destruction that I caused the other night, my mind flooded with the memories of everything that happened... Not only with DJ having to restrain me and hold me back from leaving my room, but also the memories of my past... Things my ex wife told me... The things that I did to scare her... The way that I was treated... All of the things that I deserved.

It all became too much for me, so I ended up locking myself in the bathroom... The very bathroom that I’m in right now.

_YOU PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT WHY CANT YOU CONTROL YOURSELF LIKE A NORMAL FUCKING PERSON! STOP BEING SO CHAOTIC AND UNSTABLE ALL THE GODDAMN TIME!_

The sensations in my body were getting more tormenting and once I saw my reflection in the mirror, a huge surge of anger shot through me. It took a ton of power for me to resist punching the glass and shattering it. I was feeling suffocated by so many things... I hardly remember because it all felt so overwhelming.

What I do remember... Or can assume happened was that I ripped my sweatshirt off because I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was probably screaming... I mean, I knew my mind was.

_GET IT OFF ME! GET IT THE FUCK OFF OF ME !_

I was feeling so desperate and all I needed in that moment was to escape my body somehow... I would do anything but despite knowing that nothing would work, I still started clawing at my own skin.

Everything felt so _itchy_. I could have sworn that there were tiny bugs crawling all over my whole body and I just needed to get them off!

I must have scratched for so long... I scratched my neck, my chest, my arms... everything. I obviously wasn’t aware in that moment that I had scratched so hard that my skin broke and started bleeding, but even if I was aware, I don’t think I would have cared. I don’t think I would have stopped.

All I was able to focus on was the noise in my head and the horrible sensations I was having. Everything was so loud. I didn’t know what the hell was going on, and I couldn’t think straight because of how chaotic and overwhelming everything was. Without my sweatshirt I was freezing but I didn’t care. I was almost numb to the pain that I was causing... I hardly remember feeling my skin breaking when I scratched it open. I know I did end up punching my mirror at some point, but honestly, I don’t think I even felt that pain either.

What I did feel was the mental pain... The physical pain didn’t matter, but the mental did. The torment in my head was way worse than any physical pain I inflicted on myself.

_WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU! James you need to CALM THE FUCK DOWN!_

When my head is that loud, it’s hard to distinguish between all of the voices. That’s what was happening... Every voice was blending together... The voices of the past, my own self hatred, body dysmorphia... They all sounded the same, and just intertwined with one another, becoming a huge tornado of pure destruction.

The louder they got, the stronger my shame and frustration got, and I knew for a fact that I couldn’t control anything I was doing at this point. I must have lit up a cigarette or two in that bathroom because I can still smell the smoke now... and there are cigarette butts in the fuckin’ shower.

Even with a damn fever and possible throat infection, I still filled my whole bathroom up with smoke. It was just like what I did in my room last night... I didn’t have any windows open and just let myself inhale all of the toxins, not giving a shit what was happening to me.

Every decision I made during this was based on impulse. There was absolutely no thinking involved, and nothing mattered to me. Obviously... because if I cared, I never would have gone outside in the freezing cold, in just my tank top... I wouldn’t have stayed outside letting myself get frostbite as I smoked god knows how many cigarettes, filling my already weak body with more toxins that just aggravated the damage I’ve done to it.

_Who the fuck cares how cold it is?! You deserve to freeze anyway you piece of shit! This is your fuckin punishment for being such a fucked up person who just HURTS everyone Including yourself but THATS WHAT YOU DESERVE!_

The scariest part of dissociating is that you have no perception of time at all, and you don’t even feel like you’re in your body anymore. You don’t remember anything that happened and you’re not aware of anything that’s going on. All I remember is that tears were dripping down my face and I felt like I was gonna throw up. The freezing cold wind didn’t even bother me anymore because I was more focused on how much the cuts I made stung. They burned but a huge part of me didn’t even feel it... The cold weather just blended into it, and I’m so used to pain... Pain doesn’t bother me... Physical pain at least.

My throat burning didn’t matter. The non-stop painful coughing didn’t matter. The intense body aches that I experienced didn’t matter. Nothing mattered because all of that was overpowered by the noise in my head. Everything was jumbled together... Part of me was stuck in the past but I couldn’t distinguish that...

_YOU PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT YOU DESERVE THIS JAMES! THIS IS WHAT YOU DESERVE SO SUCK IT UP AND DEAL WITH IT. FREEZE YOUR FUCKING ASS OFF. GET FROSTBITE. DESTROY YOURSELF! COME ON YOU KNOW THATS WHAT EVERYONE WANTS YOU TO DO! YOU KNOW THEY ALL HATE YOUR GUTS SO MUCH BECAUSE OF EVERYTHING YOUVE DONE TO THEM; GRANT THEM SOME PEACE WOULD YA—_

I don’t remember a damn thing from this point on. I don’t remember when I stopped smoking... How much I smoked... When I got back inside...

I didn’t realize how much I was uncontrollably shivering... That I was back in the living room where DJ was... I didn’t know any of that. Everything was blurred and nothing felt real... Yet, everything was still so loud.

_Disorientation_ is the perfect word for it.

Somehow I got out of it... I remember DJ talking to me... I don’t remember what he said or how he helped, but I do remember coughing really hard and suddenly I realized where I was. Of course, the shame was festering inside of me because even though I wasn’t aware when it was happening, I knew when I was back that DJ had seen me in such a vulnerable state. It doesn’t get any easier no matter how many times it’s happened now... I always feel so raw and freaked out when I realize that he witnessed my own madness.

What freaked me out the most though was the possibility of him seeing what I did to myself. Although I didn’t see the damage myself, I knew something happened, and that’s when I ran up here to grab a sweatshirt... Except, I didn’t grab the sweatshirt yet. I’m still in the damn bathroom frozen in place, analyzing the destruction.

I’m scared shitless right now, because if DJ sees this... If he sees what I did, he’s gonna flip shit and go into a breakdown... He’s gonna be hurting so bad and it’ll all be my fault just like everything else. It’s not like I haven’t hurt him enough already. This will just add onto all of the other fuckin things I’ve done to him and other people. All of the horrible, cruel, destructive, chaotic, impulsive things...

I have a fucking collection at this point. It’s all I’m fucking known for.

The longer that I stand there, the more flooded I’m becoming... I can hear all of the voices from my past screaming at me... reminding me of how fucked up I am... and how all I’ve done is hurt people by being alive...

_JESUS CHRIST YOU SCARE EVERY fucking PERSON YOU’RE AROUND! THIS IS LITERALLY THE REASON WHY YOU’LL NEVER BE IN A RELATIONSHIP AGAIN, BECAUSE EVERY TIME YOU’RE IN ONE YOU SCARE THE OTHER PERSON AWAY AND THEY FUCKING LEAVE YOU._

_I... I don’t know how to handle your erratic moods, James..._

_You can be... a lot... sometimes, and I never know what’s gonna come out of your mouth... I never know if you’re gonna be angry and have an outburst, or if you’re gonna be drunk and stuck in a depressive stupor... I never know who I’m walking into, and it’s scary._

_James, you need to calm the FUCK down. You’re getting completely OUT of hand—_

I’m used to this though. This is what I fucking deserve. It’s not like it isn’t real. Everything that I’ve been told is the fucking truth. The past is in the past... The past happened. I can’t change it or take it away. It’s reality that I hurt these people and it’s reality that they left me and hurt me because of what I did. I can’t take away that I’m an impulsive, destructive piece of shit that brings chaos with every step that I take. I can’t escape that.

_I can’t handle you James... I can’t fucking handle you anymore! WE CAN’T DO THIS!_

_You can’t ever invest time in a relationship because you’re always stuck in your freakin’ studio obsessing over every goddamn thing! You never give yourself a break and you push everyone away! How are we supposed to continue doing this if we can’t freakin’ communicate?!_

_Your emotions are so blown out of proportion! I can’t get a damn rational sentence out of you ever! Have you heard yourself lately?! How are we supposed to talk things through if you overreact about every little thing?! How are we supposed to do this if you can’t even control yourself?! Drinking or not James... I don’t know what to freakin’ do any more—_

_James you NEED to calm down, you need to get a grip on yourself and calm down! You’re SCARING me!_

You can’t run from reality no matter how much you want to. I don’t care how many people tell me that my reality is skewed, because it’s not. They’ll never understand because they’re not in my shoes, and they can’t erase the fact that I’m a horrible person.

_It terrifies me when you act impulsively, James... I never know what to do or when you’re gonna do it... It’s a lot. It’s a lot to handle and it’s getting hard._

_Jesus James, for once in your life can you just take a breath and LISTEN! STOP for one second! Use your rational brain and LISTEN—_

_For GODS sake James, STOP screaming! You’re gonna scare our neighbors, you’re scaring ME!_

_WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! Do you need someone to restrain you, James?! What is going ON?!_

I’ve hurt so many people, and that’s exactly what’s about to happen when I leave this bathroom... I’ll just hurt DJ again... Just like I did a thousand times already.

So yes, DJ... My body _did_ hurt me. Maybe it didn’t directly do anything but it made me do horrible things to people.

You tell me that my body didn’t do anything wrong, but that’s the biggest lie I’ve heard in my entire life.

This body holds my soul and my soul is what hurt so many people... My soul is what ruined my marriage, and if I didn’t have a body I wouldn’t be able to hurt people the way I did...

It’s my body’s fault.

It’s my _own_ fault.

So yes, I wasn’t present when I made these cuts on myself, but now I realize that it was meant to be this way.

My body is a piece of shit.

This is what it _deserves._


End file.
